


What Could Be Better For That Wounded Place

by xbedhead



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, hospital!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbedhead/pseuds/xbedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing hospital scene between Donna and Josh, set just a few days after "In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen, Pt. 2."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Be Better For That Wounded Place

**Author's Note:**

> Even though panic attacks don't always have to make sense, I thought Josh's flashbacks in "Noel" were of interest in this regard. Before Toby found him, dozens of people must have run past and not a single one stopped to help. His outburst in the president's office - "Listen to what I have to say about Didian and, _please, listen to me_!" - struck a chord and this is what resulted.
> 
> Plus, I love H/C and Josh/Donna and this show has given me some canon to work with, so there.
> 
> This is my first _The West Wing_ fic and it's unbeta'd. All comments, criticisms and discussion welcome!

His fingers spasm every now and then, jerking toward his stomach and stopping short, like they’re held back by invisible strings. The room is dark and her eyeballs burn as her lids stutter over them, the faltering friction of two dry surfaces.

A nurse wakes her – she hadn’t realized she was sleeping – when she pulls the corner of his sheet back. 

She wants to turn away, to _unsee_ , but there it is – a gaping hole between his fifth and sixth rib (the First Lady had told her what “intercostal” meant) covered by something that looked like cellophane (“to prevent infection, but to allow the doctors access to the injury should any complications occur”).

His lids flutter open and his focus flits about the room, his mouth agape. He’s confused, but before she can say anything, his gaze lands on her.

And he smiles.

Her reaction is automatic – her lips curve upward and her dry eyes are instantly wet again.

He smacks his lips a few times and makes a sour face. “You okay?”

His question strikes her as odd, so it takes her a moment to respond. “What? I’m-I’m fine. What do you mean?”

His voice is weak, but she listens, leaning toward him and watching carefully as his lips barely form around the words. “I didn’t know if…the President was hit, but…you…”

She doesn’t know why, but she feels a cold splash of…something course through her veins. “Josh, I…wasn’t there.”

“You…” His brows furrow and she can see him replaying the night in his mind. She’s worried where this will go. “I talked to you before – ”

“On the phone. We talked on the phone about Toby’s brother and your meeting with the vice president.”

She stops midway to taking his hand because the lines on his forehead suddenly disappear and he’s staring through the wall at the foot of his hospital bed. “I…everyone was running and…” He takes a labored breath and his head lolls to the right. 

Now, she reaches for his hand – clammy to the touch – and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Josh, stop. You should rest. I’m fine and you should rest.”

He doesn’t seem to notice; all of his energy is focused on trying to steady his breathing. “No one – they couldn’t see me. They couldn’t…I thought I was shouting, but…” he trails off absently. 

“Don’t think about it, okay?” she asks, her voice watery. There is dried blood under his fingernails. 

His dried blood.

“They can’t…can’t hear me,” he rasps.

She watches him as he struggles against the memory, her free hand empty and shaking. There are wires sprouting from his body and a blood-filled tube sticking out of his chest. He looks cold and she wishes she could wrap him in a blanket, but the doctors need to have access - she’d already asked. He has three days of beard growth and she can’t help but wonder if there’s more gray there than she’d seen the last time he went a week without shaving.

To still the tremble, she wraps her other hand around his, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“I can hear you, Josh. I hear you.”


End file.
